


Blame it on the whiskey

by slugmutt



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coworkers - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Office Party, belated vaguely holidays-related theme, enemies (?) to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:08:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28369626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugmutt/pseuds/slugmutt
Summary: When work gets boring enough, people start thinking about all kinds of weird things. Like, say, shoving their uptight, irritating, unfairly attractive coworker into a supply closet and having their way with him.It's not just her, right? Jyn's pretty sure it's not just her.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 23
Kudos: 160





	1. Chapter 1

“You look like you want to murder someone.”

Jyn feels her jaw clench. She knew someone would be coming to find her soon. It’s not a big office, her absence was never going to go unnoticed for long.

But of all the people who could have come to talk to her, did it have to be Han? Han, who’s probably never even heard of the word _tact_ , let alone considered applying it to his own interactions?

“It’s a party. Loosen up. Drink.” He gives her a lewd grin. “Mingle.”

If he were anyone else, she’d be tempted to punch the grin off his face. But it’s Han, and so she knows he’s just joking with the over-the-top flirting.

(She also knows that if he ever were to cross the line into real harassment, she wouldn’t have to punch him. Leia would get there first.)

“I’ll come in a minute,” she says, forcing her shoulders to relax. “It’s just. It’s been a long week.”

Han scoffs. “Meaning, you got into it with Cassian again.” Her silence is as good as a confession. “Whatever. You two are always fighting. I’m sure he’s over it already.”

The first part is true enough. She and Cassian are, in fact, always fighting. She tells herself it’s the inevitable result of forcing someone infuriatingly calm and collected as Cassian to work with, well – someone like her.

The weird thing is, it’s not like they dislike each other, not really. At least, she doesn’t dislike him. He’s smart. He’s considerate. He always holds up his end of group projects, he always refills the coffee. After over a year of shared lunchtime conversations with Leia, Han, and the rest of the gang, she’s come to discover that their views are in synch to a scary degree, on everything from TV shows to food to the terrifying hellscape that is modern politics.

But there’s just something about him that gets under her skin. And judging from the frequency of their disputes, from the way his voice rises with her in a way it doesn’t with anyone else, she’s guessing the feeling is entirely mutual.

Which is fine. She can have that effect on people, she knows. If one of those people is her stupidly attractive coworker, so be it.

But today was something else. Today they got _mean_ , in a way they never have before.

The stupid thing is that, in retrospect, they were fighting over nothing. “In retrospect” being the key words. Because that afternoon, Cassian’s comment that she should really move her coffee farther from her laptop, just to be on the safe side, had somehow sounded like the single most obnoxious thing she’d heard in her life.

She doesn’t even remember how it escalated from there. Only that by the end, she was calling him an uptight, patronizing asshole, and he was saying, _well we can’t all be Galen Erso’s daughter, can we?_ with a sneer on his face that made her want to scream. Or maybe cry.

They’ve never, ever taken it that far before, and she has no idea where to go from here. How to fix this.

“This has nothing to do with Cassian,” she lies. “I just don’t like holiday parties.”

“Uh-huh.” Han sounds about as convinced as she is. “C’mon.” He extends a hand. “I brought some of Krennic’s good whiskey. Come get it while you still can.”

Maybe it’s for the best that it was Han who came to get her. Bodhi would want to talk about her feelings; Leia would want to psychoanalyze her. Han just wants to help her get drunk. And the more she thinks about it, the more that sounds like an excellent plan.

She lets him pull her into the next room, where her coworkers await.

A half-hour later, she can’t remember why she was so reluctant to do this. Whiskey makes everything better.

Plus, their boss, that fuckface Krennic, just left early, so things are just about perfect. With the minor exception of how she still can’t bring herself to look at Cassian, while her stupid eyes don’t seem to want to look at anything else.

How does he make even an ugly Christmas sweater look good? That shade of garish red shouldn’t look good on anyone.

She’s just getting sick of talking about spirituality with Chirrut from marketing (she’s a little too drunk to make sense of his philosophy, or maybe not drunk enough) when Bodhi waves her over. She says her goodbyes to Chirrut and makes her way to where her friends are sitting, pausing only for a moment when she sees that Cassian is part of the group.

She’s not going to avoid him. She’s a grown adult who isn’t afraid of a little social awkwardness.

She’s careful to avoid eye contact as she sits down, though.

Thankfully, Leia’s in the middle of a story about a disastrous skiing trip with her father and Luke, and it’s easy to focus on her, to laugh along with everyone else. To pretend that everything is normal.

At least, it’s easy until Han opens his fat mouth.

“So Captain – “ Han begins, giving Cassian a sly look.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I hear you’re planning a revolution.”

Cassian gives Han one of his trademark blank stares.

“Planning to overthrow Krennic?”

“Please stop talking.” From anyone else it would sound unspeakably rude, but from Cassian, it almost sounds polite. He’s always been good at that. 

“Come on, we’re all friends here,” Han says, beer sloshing on the table as he gestures around at Jyn, Bodhi, Leia and Luke. “You can tell us.”

Cassian’s gaze slides to Jyn. Just for a split second, but it’s long enough for her to get the message. _We’re not_ all _friends here_.

She stands abruptly, her body reacting before her brain catches up. Five pairs of eyes look to her, and her brain stalls, searching for an excuse to leave. Just for a few minutes, just long enough to let Cassian say what he wants to say without her unwanted presence making things awkward.

And suddenly she has the perfect idea. “Speaking of Krennic, I almost forgot to give him the Christmas present I made,” she says brightly. 

Han laughs, Leia frowns, and Bodhi looks wary.

“Is it – “ Bodhi starts, then flaps his hand as if to wave away his own question. “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.”

“Smart of you,” she says. “Be back in a few.”

She is not upset as she walks away. It’s not like it matters that Cassian doesn’t trust her. Not everybody has to like her. Not even people who are perfectly friendly and relaxed with every single other person in the office except for her.

She’s almost at the elevators before she realizes she walked straight past Krennic’s office, and doubles back.

Krennic’s password is as easy to crack as ever. She should probably warn him that it’s a bad idea to always use some combination of his cat’s name and the current month, but of course, that would make what she’s doing now harder.

She hums lightly to herself as the program uploads. Messing with Krennic never fails to put her in a good mood.

“What are you doing?”

She almost jumps out of her skin, and then her brain recognizes the voice, and calms down.

Damn it, and she had just managed to go ten seconds without thinking about him.

“I’m setting up fake error messages to go off once a week for the next year,” she says, a note of challenge in her tone.

There’s a moment of silence. And then, “If it’s the same time every week, even Krennic will notice,” Cassian warns.

“Give me some credit, Captain, I’m not exactly new to this.” She finishes with a click. “It will be once a week on average, spaced out at random.”

He has the grace to look moderately impressed.

“Wait,” he says, before she can shut the system down. “Can you - ?” He gestures for her to make room for him, and she does, curious.

He goes into Krennic’s stored documents. Not bothering to hide his activities from her as he plugs in a disk on key and begins to download.

“Damn, Cassian,” she breathes. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Looking for evidence,” he says, evenly.

She keeps her eyes on the screen as she says, “You have got to tell me what that’s about.”

He turns his head, and she turns her, and suddenly she realizes just how close she’s been standing. He swallows. “If you – “

But she doesn’t have time to hear what the condition is, because suddenly there are footsteps right outside.

Surprisingly, Cassian reacts as quickly as she does. She thought she was the only one who’s used to running from trouble. He grabs the disc on key while she turns off the screen. They choose the supply closet as one, as if they’d planned it. They make it just in time, too; the door to Krennic’s office opening a moment after Cassian slides the closet door silently closed.

She can tell the person in the office is Krennic from the stomping as he enters, the drunken muttering as he opens and closes desk drawers. She listens carefully, trying to figure out what he’s doing by sound alone. It makes a good distraction from the fact that Cassian is just inches away. This hiding place is really not big enough for two people.

“Probably came back to lock the drawer he keeps his whiskey in.” Cassian’s breath ghosts across her temple. “Afraid we’ll steal it.”

“Well he doesn’t have to worry about that,” she replies, voice barely a whisper. “Han emptied that bottle six months ago, and replaced it with the cheapest shit he could find.”

Cassian makes an odd sound. It takes her a moment to realize that he’s _laughing_ , laughing and trying to hide it, because Krennic is just feet away. Without thinking, she puts a hand up to cover his mouth. 

Which is a mistake, because she can feel his lips against her palm, warm and dry, just chapped enough to provide a slight drag of friction that she knows, instantly, that she will be thinking about for the next week.

She pulls her hand away as if from a flame. Thankfully, he seems to be done laughing. His eyes are still dancing with amusement, though. “I was wondering where Han got the good stuff,” he says.

Part of her wants to laugh with him. Another part is offended, because sure, when it’s Han it’s funny, but when she pulls office pranks, half the time he looks at her like she just kicked his dog.

And a third part, much louder than the first two, is wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. 

It’s not like she’s never wondered before. But it’s always been easy to dismiss those kind of thoughts as the delusions of a work-addled, caffeine-deprived mind. When work gets boring enough, people start thinking about all kinds of weird things. Even kissing their hot, obnoxious coworkers. She’s sure it’s not just her.

She’s not bored now, though. And yet.

She hears Krennic leave, but doesn’t move.

“I thought you didn’t trust me,” she says, still whispering.

“Why would you think that?”

“You looked at me. When Han asked about your plans.” As she says it, she realizes it doesn’t sound entirely coherent, but he seems to understand.

“I felt bad that you didn’t already know,” he says. “I mean, I know that messing with Krennic is kind of your thing. I should have told you earlier, we could have coordinated.”

Well, damn. And just when she’d thought he couldn’t get any more attractive.

“Jyn?” She’s not sure what she looks like right now, but his own gaze is darkening in response, pupils widening. His focus dropping briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes.

Fuck it. Fuck the awkwardness, and just – all of it. She’s going to go for what she wants, and right now what she wants is to know what Cassian Andor’s lips would feel like against hers. Screw the consequences. After all, it’s not like things between the two of them can get any more awkward.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay,” she tells him. And then, when he doesn’t move away, she does.

It’s a good kiss, once he catches up. Which is almost immediately. He’s quick on his feet, Cassian. Quick to deepen the kiss, quick to wrap one hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer.

It’s a good kiss, which is a very bad thing, because now she wants more, and he’s already pulling away.

But he doesn’t go far. In fact, he’s close enough that she can feel his breath against her lips when he asks, “You want this?” His tone is surprised and, if she’s not imagining it, a little hopeful.

Does she want this? Does she really want to do this, here, now, with the one coworker most likely to piss her off?

She looks at him in the dim light. Dark eyes. Cheekbones she’s always resented because how dare he be so pretty, on top of everything else. And the heat in his gaze. That’s what it all comes down to, isn’t it? For all that he always looks calm, underneath it all Cassian runs as hot as she does.

It hits her, all at once, that she’s been wanting this for a while.

She nods.

When he kisses her again, it is not hesitant, or gentle. And it’s even better than she could have imagined, because in her wildest dreams she wouldn’t have imagined Cassian Andor kissing like this. There is nothing calm or restrained about it. It’s furious, almost dirty, teeth and tongues and a battle for dominance that has her blood singing in her veins.

Why haven’t they been doing this for months already? This is perfect. The heat is there, like when they fight, but with none of the jagged edges of pain or guilt.

Plus, she’s about ready to strip down and have her way with him right here in the supply closet. So there’s that.

She makes short work of the ugly sweater. His button-down is harder, because by then his body is flush against hers, pressing her back into the wall, and she keeps getting distracted. When she finally gets her hands on his surprisingly muscled stomach, it feels like a victory.

At least, it does until he pulls away again.

“Wait,” he says, breathing hard. She doesn’t love the interruption.

She likes it even less when he says, “I don’t – I can’t do hate sex.”

Her first, illogical thought is, _ouch_. Which makes no sense. What did she think this was going to be? They were literally screaming at each other less than eight hours ago. “Hate sex” is as good a term as any.

Her second thought is that she’s not giving up that easily. Which might make her more than a little pathetic. But she’ll be damned if that wasn’t the hottest kiss she’s had in years. Possibly ever. She really, really wants to see if the sex would be equally good.

Which means… ugh. She knows what she has to do.

She lets out a deep breath, steeling herself. “Fine,” she says.

Cassian freezes, then pushes away from her, his eyes shuttering. “Fine,” he echoes.

“Wait.” She grabs the front of his shirt, holding him in place. “I meant, ‘fine,’ like – “ She closes her eyes. This part is going to suck.

“Cassian,” she says, eyes still closed. “It is possible that I could have been more careful. With the laptop, and the coffee.”

“Um. OK?”

She lets out a breath, and opens her eyes. That wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. “Well?”

Cassian looks… bewildered, mostly. “Well, what?”

She licks her lips, and his eyes follow. “I apologized. So now you can forgive me, and we can be out of hate-sex territory and into – I dunno, antagonistic-coworkers-with-benefits?”

“I’m not sure that’s a thing,” he says, but his lips are curling up, and _oh,_ she always knew he looks good when he smiles, but now the smile is directed _at her_ , and it’s a whole new level of distracting. “I also didn’t hear an actual apology – “

She sighs. “Well, if it’s _not a thing_ ,” she says, moving as if to go, but she’s joking, and she can tell he knows.

“Stay,” he says, and he’s still smiling, and she wants to feel that smile against her lips, to taste it.

So she does.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting up chapters 2 and 3 so that anyone who doesn't want fairly explicit smut can skip to the end.
> 
> ... this is the smut chapter. In case that wasn't clear. Zero plot points. Smut only.

If she tried hard enough, she could probably remember how they got to Cassian’s place. There was a car involved, she’s pretty sure. She remembers briefly being glad they’d gone to his apartment and not hers, since the clean surfaces and neatly arranged shelves suggest that her place might have been a bit… cluttered, for his taste.

Other than that, it’s a blur.

It’s not even the alcohol that’s making her forgetful, making it feel like she’s half-floating. The shots she took wore off an hour ago. No, it’s just the way Cassian is kissing her, the feel of his hands under her shirt, that has her unable to remember anything more complicated than her own name.

If she’d known he was this good at this, she would have dragged him into that closet ages ago.

They’re still just inside the front door. Really, it’s a lucky thing that they made it inside at all. (And now she remembers the car ride – his hand on her thigh, thumb tracing tiny circles, and somehow that one tiny point of contact was enough to have her feeling as though she was about to explode.)

His hands are moving upwards, and she decides to make it easier for him, removing her shirt in a single pull. He hums appreciatively, then steps back in, those clever fingers of his tracing their way down her cleavage.

He always did catch on quickly.

It’s still not enough. She wants his skin on hers, wants to be touching him everywhere. For now, she settles for removing his ugly sweater, again. And undoing his buttons, again, although she gets distracted by the lean, almost harsh lines of his chest, and her sudden need to nip at his collarbone.

He groans, shifting slightly to give her better access. “Jyn,” he said, hoarse. And then, “Jyn. What are we doing?”

She pauses. “Do they not teach sex ed where you’re from?”

“I went to high school in the US, you know,” he says, but he’s smiling. “And for the record, sex ed here is a joke. But I didn’t mean – you don’t even – damn it, Jyn, you know what I meant.”

She slides one hand down, cupping him through his pants, and he hisses as if in pain, his hips thrusting forward automatically. “You want to define the relationship right now?”

“You’re awful,” he says, but he’s kissing her neck as he says it, one hand at her hip while the other trails up her stomach, leaving a line of fire in its wake.

“Look, it’s simple. You’re hot, and I’m sick of wondering what your skin tastes like.”

His head jerks back for a moment at that, eyes going wide. But all he says is, “Fair enough.”

He kisses her again, and his hips thrust forward again, and she’s really regretting not wearing a skirt, since that would mean one less layer of fabric between them. Oh well, it’s easily fixed.

Her boots are a little trickier to remove than her shirt; she ends up balanced on one foot, untying her shoelace one-handed while her other hand rests on Cassian’s shoulder. He looks amused, but waits patiently, one hand on her hip to steady her.

Boots off, she makes quick work of her pants. After which she slides her hands back to his shoulders, eager to start where they left off. But something is making him hesitate. She gives him a questioning look.

“You’re not drunk, right?” he asks.

“I had two shots, hours ago. And you?”

“I’m good.” Her hands go back to his chest, and he shivers. “Just wanted to be sure this is what you want.”

“Was my hand on your dick not clear enough?” she asks innocently. He tries to glare, but it’s ruined by the way his lips are curving upwards. “Is there a document I need to sign?”

And then _finally_ he’s on her again, or she’s on him, and it’s frantic, hungry kisses and exploring hands, tinder bursting into flame. She finally gets his damned shirt unbuttoned, and he lets it slide off and fall to the floor.

Somehow that, more than anything, is what makes it all real to her. Stubborn, by-the-book neat freak Cassian Andor just threw his shirt on the floor like it was nothing.

She is about to have sex with stubborn, by-the-book neat freak Cassian Andor.

She can’t wait.

She’d happily do this on the couch, or even on the floor, but he nudges her toward the hallway, his gentle maneuvering an odd contrast to the frantic way his hands slide into her hair and his demanding kisses. She tries to follow, mostly, sort of. Okay, she’s too busy running her hands over his abs, so sue her. He doesn’t complain though; just picks her up as if she weighs nothing. She lets her legs wrap around his waist, curls her hands into his hair, and sets about figuring out if he likes it when she licks his ears.

(he does, although not as much as he likes the light scrape of her nails down his chest. She files that away as information she won’t need in the future, but will certainly enjoy remembering.)

He sets her down in what’s probably the bedroom. She can’t be bothered to look.

His hands come to her breasts, and she realizes for the first time that she’s no longer wearing a bra. _Clever fingers,_ she thinks, and she has no complaints because now those clever fingers are brushing her nipples, making them pebble and her ache with need.

After a moment, though, it occurs to her that he’s still overdressed. Cassian watches, amused, as she pulls at his belt, kicking off his shoes as she does.

She expects, once his pants are off, to resume their frenetic pace. Instead he stands there in his boxers, hands moving up her sides almost lazily. Slowly, he walks her backwards until her knees hit the bed, and she sits.

His hands are moving up her legs, now, and she wants to say something, to tell him to hurry up and fuck her already, but words are failing her. She knew he looks good in a suit, but it is nothing, _nothing_ compared to how good he looks like this, with messy hair and desperate eyes. Plus, some serious muscles that he had going on under those crisp button-down shirts of his.

“What do you want?” he murmurs, hands still drifting higher up her thighs. A question which is increasingly hard to answer, since all she can come up with is _everything_.

She whimpers, and he laughs, low and deliciously tempting. “Let me make it easier for you,” he says. “Do you want me to get you off with my fingers, tongue, or dick? The first time,” he adds, and her brain nearly whites out.

“Trust you to provide a multiple-choice questionnaire for sex,” she manages.

Another low laugh, this one heating the skin of her collarbone. “Just trying to be helpful.”

“Is there going to be a user satisfaction survey afterwards? Ohhhh,” she says, breaking into a moan as his hand reaches the apex of her thighs, thumb drifting across the fabric directly over her clit.

“I can write one if you’d like,” he says. He leans in, mouth working against her neck as his thumb continues moving, torturously slowly. “But I can think of some other things I’d rather be doing.”

She swallows back _just keep touching me, literally anything you want to do to my body is fine_ in favor of “Fingers, please.”

He hums his assent as he presses forward, their weight shifting until she’s on her back on the bed, Cassian above her. And then he makes good on his plan, and _oh_. Oh yes, clever fingers indeed.

It should be strange. If you’d asked her five hours ago where she’d be at the end of the night, never in her wildest dreams would she have guessed that the answer was in Cassian Andor’s bed, with his lips on her neck and his fingers deep in her cunt.

It should be, but it isn’t. Instead it feels like this was always going to happen. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to drag her nails down his back, to writhe and beg for more, to let him kiss her as she falls apart, swallowing her scream.

It takes her a moment, after, to come back to earth. When she does, she finds herself happier than she’s been in a while.

She could live in this moment, she thinks, with the warm aftermath of pleasure in her limbs and a spark of desire underneath, waiting to be stirred back into flame. And Cassian, his expression warm and open, looking at her like he’s never seen anything better.

And then reality hits like a cup of ice water to the face. That is not what this is. She’s his least favorite coworker, not his girlfriend.

She hooks one leg behind his knee and pushes, flipping their positions. If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show.

“Judo?” he asks, conversational.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she traces his body with hard, open-mouthed kisses, moving up his chest to his neck, down his collarbone. Rocking as she does, giving him just enough pressure to drive him crazy, until she feels his hands dig into her hips, silently begging for more. His hips rise as if of their own accord, grinding against her, and she feels him hard and ready.

This is what she needs. Pure, unbridled lust. Fucking. Not warm and fuzzy thoughts or soft looks.

“Cock, I think,” she murmurs in his ear. “For the second time.”

Suddenly she’s moving, turning, coming to rest on her back with his body pressing hers into the mattress. She blinks. He’s _fast_. And careful, too, holding her just hard enough for the move to work, but not so hard that she couldn’t easily break his hold.

“Jiujitsu?” she asks, breathless.

“Aikido,” he says, and then he’s kissing her like it’s his last hour on earth, like he’s been wanting this for ages.

It’s amazing, perfect even, except that even after he gets the condom on he keeps on kissing her and playing with her breasts, and the longer he does that, the more she really, _really_ needs him inside her right now.

“Stop teasing,” she whines, her irritation only half for show.

“Someday I’m going to teach you the virtue of patience,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes it sound like the best kind of promise. Makes her wonder what he means by _someday_.

And then he slides into her, and nothing else matters. Nothing else exists, maybe; the universe has narrowed to the two of them, intertwined. To this moment.

“Is this good?” he asks, voice strained, and all she can do is moan, because _good_ doesn’t even begin to describe it. Time stretches, condenses, as he moves inside her, as she wraps her legs around his waist and begs for more. It is somehow both an eternity and a single moment that passes until she finally hits the peak and falls, gasping his name as he trembles and moans above her.

They lie quietly afterwards. She wonders if he feels like she does – boneless, happy, so light that he could almost float away.

After a few minutes, she turns her head. His eyes are half-lidded, and his expression is more relaxed than she’s ever seen it.

“If there was a user satisfaction survey, you’d get a perfect score,” she tells him.

He laughs, but she can see his ears going red. “Yeah? You gonna leave me a recommendation on LinkedIn?”

She starts to laugh, too, and then it hits her – they aren’t contacts on LinkedIn. Or anywhere else. It’s never seemed like a good idea. Bad enough that they fight in the office. They don’t need to do it online and have their petty bickering preserved for all time.

She sits up, suddenly feeling cold. “It’s late,” she says, not meeting his eyes. “I should probably go.”

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show. “Okay,” he says, nodding. 

She’s not sure why he gets dressed, too, but she’s glad he does. It makes it slightly less awkward as she wanders his apartment collecting her own clothes and putting them on one item at a time.

Soon, too soon, they’re both standing awkwardly in front of his door.

“So, I’ll… see you around, I guess,” she says, and then winces. Even for her, that wasn’t exactly smooth.

Not that Cassian’s doing much better. His right hand is on the doorknob, but it’s just resting there, as if he, like her, has no idea how to bring the evening to a close. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… see you at the office.”

She nods. He nods.

He doesn’t open the door.

“I should call you a cab from here,” he says suddenly. “It’s cold outside. You can wait here until they come.”

“Sounds good,” she says, a little too high-pitched.

He pulls up the app, his fingers moving over the keys.

“Wait.”

His head jerks up.

“You, um. You never told me what you’re planning to do to Krennic,” she says.

“Oh.” The surprise on his face quickly morphs to a devious smile that, if you ask her, he should wear more often. “Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

Cassian laughs quietly at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He grows serious. “I think Krennic is embezzling.”

“Wait, seriously?” He nods. “Wow. I mean, not that I’d put it past him, but – wow.” The pieces fall together. “That’s what you were looking for earlier, in his office.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s a long shot, thinking he’d leave incriminating evidence on his work computer – “

“It’s really not,” she says. “His password is literally always MrBiscuits, his phone isn’t password-protected at all, and he’s failed more than half of the company’s phishing tests. Honestly, I’d be surprised if it _wasn’t_ on his computer.”

She’s treated to one of his rare grins. “In that case…” he begins. He shifts from foot to foot, looking oddly shy. “Would you like to help me go through his files, to see what we can find?”

She grins back. “I don’t think there’s anything I’d enjoy more.”

“Nothing?” he asks, raising a single eyebrow, and – _oh_. She knows he’s teasing, but suddenly the air feels thick with tension. And she can’t help but notice that he’s standing closer than he normally does, and that if she stood on tiptoe their lips could be touching. And she’s feeling a familiar ache again, as strong as ever. As if her body thinks it’s been ten months since she last had sex, not ten minutes.

Judging by the look on his face, Cassian’s thoughts are moving in a similar direction.

It’s not like she has to go home right away. Sure, it’s 2 am, but tomorrow is Saturday anyway, so maybe she could –

Her thoughts are cut off by the brush of his fingers against her cheek. And then he’s looking at her and she’s looking at him, and then – she’s not sure exactly how – her back is against the door and he’s kissing her and she’s grabbing his neck and pulling him closer, and –

The door stays closed, in the end.


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes up, and for three blissful seconds, she has no idea where she is. Just that she’s warm, and comfortable, and that the sheets smell amazing.

The smell is oddly familiar. Awareness starts to trickle in, as she tries to place the scent. It’s not from home, that’s for sure, and not from the coffee shop or Bodhi’s flat. Something from work, she thinks – a strange answer, but one that feels right the moment she thinks it.

It’s not the smell of Leia’s weird foreign coffees, she thinks, a little more awake now. Or the incense Luke still keeps around from his weird spiritual phase.

No, it’s -

 _Oh_. Oh no.

It all hits at once. The party at work, her and Cassian in Krennic’s office, kissing him, following him home. Sex. Talking. More sex. And then… well, she can’t remember, but obviously she must have fallen asleep.

He probably tried to wake her up so she could go home like a normal person, only to realize that she sleeps like the dead. She’d be glad she slept through that awkwardness, except that maybe now it’s worse, because she’s picturing a dozen different ways it might have happened.

Intellectually, she knows it’s not the worst thing, sleeping in his bed, but she can’t help but feel weird about it. This isn’t that kind of hookup.

And it was going to be hard enough already, seeing him at work and pretending that nothing had happened. Borderline impossible, really, to look at him and not immediately think about the things they did last night. To see his face without picturing him above her, the light shining around his wild hair like a halo while he gives her a devil’s smile.

She was supposed to have an entire weekend to prepare. And now she has to go out and face him immediately, without time to calm down and get her shit together. Looking around the room, she realizes she may need to face him without the benefit of _clothes_ , too, because she has no idea where hers are.

Eventually she gives up, grabbing his button-down shirt from off the floor. It will have to do.

His shirt smells like him, too. That is to say: way too good. She finds herself wondering, briefly, if the night before really had to be a one-time thing. She pushes the thought away quickly. They work together. Sleeping together once is one thing, but it would be a mistake to try to keep this going.

It’s a shame, really, because the sex was fucking fantastic.

She’s not sure what made it so good. Maybe the way he seemed to read her so perfectly; to learn so quickly what she didn’t like, what she liked, and what would have her falling apart in seconds. Maybe the way that, for all that he judges her for everything from her shoes (“combat boots aren’t workplace-appropriate”) to her hobbies (“keep drawing dicks on Krennic’s picture, and he’s going to notice”), she knows, somehow, that he would never judge her for her desire. That he could be trusted with her vulnerability.

She steps into the hallway, making her way to the living room. In the light of day, his apartment is brighter than she would have expected. Cozier. Very neat, which is _exactly_ what she would have expected. But not dull. His furniture is worn-in, and the walls are decorated with a mix of photographs, paintings, and what look like a handful of children’s pictures. She takes a closer look at one, and sees a big scribble and a smaller one, the larger one helpfully marked as “Uncle Cassian” in an adult’s neat handwriting.

There’s a funny warm feeling in her chest. She steps away quickly.

Cassian himself is easy enough to find. Anyone would be – the apartment is barely bigger than hers – but it helps that he’s singing along with the radio.

He doesn’t notice her at first, which is good, because she needs a moment to adjust. Because yeah, intellectually she probably knew, on some level, that not everything in Cassian’s wardrobe was “work casual,” but seeing him barefoot in jeans and a ratty college sweater is still weird. Good weird, though. He looks – approachable, somehow. Softer.

He turns, and jumps a little when he sees her standing there. “Hey,” he says, sheepish. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” She casts around for something else to say, and comes up blank.

Ugh. Why can’t she just make words around this guy? Normal words. Something on the scale between “fuck you” and “fuck me.” _Small talk, Jyn. You must have done it at some point_.

Fortunately, Cassian picks up the ball on his end. “You want breakfast?”

She always wants breakfast. And whatever he’s made smells phenomenal, and she’s just now realizing how hungry she is. (Which she supposes isn’t surprising, considering the number of calories she must have burned the night before.)

Still, she’s shaking her head before he finishes the question. “No, that’s OK. I wouldn’t want to – I didn’t – sorry.”

He gives her a strange look, confusion mixed with something she can’t quite figure out. Maybe he’s just now realized she’s wearing his shirt. Maybe he’s wondering why she’s making herself comfortable in his life, why she’s sleeping in his bed and borrowing his clothing, when this is clearly not that kind of relationship. When they don’t even _like_ each other.

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t mean to sleep here, and definitely didn’t mean to steal your shirt. I just – I don’t remember where I threw my things last night, and – “

“It’s fine.” Her apologetic word-vomit hasn’t cleared things up for him, apparently, because the look he’s giving her is odder than ever. “Your clothes are on the couch. I’m sorry I didn’t bring them in to you, I just didn’t want to wake you.”

“Okay. I’ll just change, then. Sorry.”

“Jyn.” He takes a step closer, approaching her slowly, as if she’s a cornered animal. “Why are you apologizing?”

She shrugs, not even knowing where to start. “It’s just… I know this can’t be what you had planned for Saturday morning.”

“Having a gorgeous woman in my house, wearing my shirt, is always going to be an improvement to my morning. I promise.”

There is nothing in his voice but utter sincerity, and she can’t help the smile that unfolds across her face. “Gorgeous, huh?”

There’s something awestruck in his expression as he looks at her. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. She can see the tips of his ears go red. “I, ah. Thought you realized that I thought so.”

She makes her way to the kitchen table and sits, finally giving in to the tempting smell of food. “Maybe I will have breakfast,” she declares.

He’s biting back a smile as he hands her a plate. She takes a bite of the eggs, and barely holds back a moan of pleasure. He good at cooking, too? So unfair.

He sits down across from her, and she takes another bite, thinking through her next step.

“I didn’t, actually,” she says. “Realize. I thought I mostly bother you.”

“You do bother me,” he admits, and it stings. “You’re so good at everything. And you don’t seem to care.”

“I’m not good at everything.”

He toys with his fork. “You pick up new stuff before the rest of us get halfway through the training. You could practically create new apps in your sleep. And you act like it’s all a joke, like what we’re doing is pointless.”

She’s not sure whether to be offended, or relieved. Is that really how he sees her? Uncaring, apathetic?

But on the other hand, apparently he also thinks she’s some sort of programming genius.

She certainly doesn’t feel like a genius. Although, thinking about it now, it’s true that she always seems to be the first to finish new training. Since Cassian came, it’s been a bit of a point of pride for her, every time she manages to finish before him. But only because he’s so hard to beat.

“You’re plenty smart, too,” she points out. “It’s not like you aren’t right there with me.”

“I work hard for that,” he says.

“And I don’t?” Part of her feels her anger rising, feels the urge to take the familiar path toward another pointless argument.

But there’s another part that’s languid after a night of amazing sex, and also, that really can’t be bothered to fight when she still hasn’t tried the waffles. Damn him for being such a good cook.

So when he asks, “Do you?” she finds herself pondering it seriously.

Her father is a computer engineer. She learned the first steps in programming sometime shortly after she took her actual first steps; when she was so young that it’s lost to memory. She always had someone to go to when her code wasn’t compiling. Even in university, she had her father’s help whenever she needed it. Plus, the money they’d been saving since her childhood, to cover tuition.

It’s true that she’s worked very hard. It’s also true that most people, if they wanted to get where she is, would have to work even harder.

“That’s what bothers you?” she asks. “That I don’t care enough about what we do?” She has to say, it makes a strange kind of sense. Thinking back over everything she knows of Cassian, yeah, she can see why apathy would be the one thing he can’t stand.

He smiles, then, rueful but genuine. “We got off topic,” he says. “I tend to do that, with you.” He meets her gaze, eyes soft. “You bother me sometimes, yeah. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re amazing.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

“You’re brilliant, and gorgeous, and funny. And I’ve seen you with Bodhi and Leia. You’re a good friend.” He smiles, half to himself, as he adds, “And it’s never boring, working with you.” She’s not sure whether that last part is a compliment. It should be. She works hard on her prank war with Solo, her ongoing quest for petty revenge against Krennic.

She takes a bite of waffle, and this time she can’t stop the moan. “Damn, these are good.”

He’s watching her, pupils wide. “Glad you like them,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You bother me, too,” she says, conversational. “I mean, come on. When I replace Krennic’s staples with ones that don’t fit, that’s not OK, but you’re practically planning a coup and that’s cool? That’s some bullshit right there. But,” she adds, before he can respond, “You’re also patient, and great to work with. And the only person who could possibly keep the rest of us in line, I mean, really, ‘Captain’ isn’t an insult so much as an acknowledgment that you’re basically our real manager.” She licks syrup from her lips. “And also,” she adds, with blatantly fake indifference, “you’re not unattractive.”

He’s smiling again. She’s really going to have to learn how to keep thinking straight when he does that.

“’Not unattractive,’ huh?”

“Wouldn’t want you to get a big head.”

His smile melts into a knowing smirk that has blood rushing back to her cheeks, again. “I can see how you’d be worried about that after last night.”

She sips her coffee as if she couldn’t care less what he’s talking about, knowing even as she does so that she must be blushing to the roots of her hair. Because, OK, yes, she may have screamed his name loud enough to wake up the neighbors. It’s his fault, really, for being so very good at that. 

Then she risks a glance in his direction, and realizes that his ears are red again. That strange, warm feeling in her chest is back again.

He clears his throat. “Would you want to do this again sometime? I mean, not this,” he seems to have realized how that sounded, and the redness is spreading from his ears down to his neck. “Dinner. Or something. With me.”

She has to bite back a smile. He’s cute when he’s flustered.

“It would be a shame if this was just a one-time thing,” she agrees. She waits until she sees his smile to add, “When you’re so very good at making breakfast.”

*

It is, of all people, Han Solo who finally manages to figure it out. Well, Han, with Leia’s help. If those two ever get together, they’re going to make a formidable team.

Honestly, they’re lucky that it stayed secret for all of three months. It’s not like they’d been particularly careful. It’s all she can do not to jump him at work. And Cassian – responsible, dependable Cassian – is actually _worse_. He’s the one who can’t stop himself from kissing her neck when Leia is sitting right there, temporarily distracted by her phone, or from sending her dirty texts in the middle of lunch, causing her to turn so red that Bodhi thought she was having an allergic reaction.

What gets them in trouble isn’t any of that. It’s the fact that, for once, they are acting like professionals.

“If you could get that done by Thursday, that would be really helpful,” Cassian tells her. He’s just inside the door of the room she shares with Han and Leia, wearing a navy-blue button-down that fits a little too well. It’s giving Jyn all kinds of naughty ideas.

She nods, her expression perfectly neutral. “No problem.”

Leia echoes her “no problem.” Han, on the other hand, pushes off his desk, rolling to the middle of the room, and says, “Okay, what the hell is going on here?”

Cassian’s face is a mask of polite confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You. Her.” He points to Jyn. “You two have been acting weird for weeks.” He gives Cassian a suspicious look. “She’s got a full mug of coffee right there next to her keyboard, and you’re not going to say anything?”

Cassian shrugs. “That’s her business.”

Han looks over his shoulder at Jyn. “He just asked you to take two new tasks, when our deadline is in three days. And you’re just going to do it? No questions, no yelling, nada?”

Now it’s her turn to shrug. “Someone has to do it.”

Han shakes his head. “Something is weird here.” He looks between the two of them. “You guys finally fuck it out?”

“Gross, Han,” Leia says automatically. But then something about Jyn’s expression catches her eye. She glances quickly from Jyn to Cassian, and back, and her mouth drops open. “Wait, you actually did, didn’t you?” she says, somehow sounding both horrified and delighted all at once.

Han chokes on air. “Wait, seriously? You and the Captain? No fucking way.”

“Don’t tease her, Han,” Leia chides. “I think it’s great,” she says, turning to Jyn.

“I give it three months,” says Han.

“Han!” Leia punches him in the arm. “You can’t go around telling people you think they’ll break up!”

Han yelps, rolling away. “You hit hard,” he tells Leia, half-admiringly. “And for the record,” he adds, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture, “I wasn’t saying they’re going to break up. I was saying they’re going to murder each other.”

Leia crosses her arms, glaring. “And why would they do that? There’s no reason it shouldn’t work out. Not everyone is an arrogant jerk who lacks the slightest scrap of emotional intelligence.”

It’s clear that Jyn and Cassian have been completely forgotten. She can’t help smiling, and when she risks a look in his direction, she seems him smiling back.

Han and Leia are still arguing, something about Han’s ex-girlfriend.

“Enough,” Cassian says. His tone is calm, mild, and Han and Leia both shut up immediately. “Yes, Jyn and I are together. Now get back to work.” He pauses, then adds, “And stop bothering my girlfriend.”

Jyn fights it, she really does, but she can feel her entire face going pink.

Leia waits for Cassian to walk out the door before whispering, “Look, Han, she’s blushing. It’s – “

“Disgusting,” Han says, just as Leia says, “Adorable.”

“Ugh, you are about as romantic as dirt. No wait, dirt helps flowers grow. You’re as romantic as toxic sludge,” Leia says, wrinkling her nose and turning back to her computer.

“I still think it’s weird,” Han mutters under his breath.

Leia shrugs. “Sometimes opposites attract.”

The look Han gives her then is oddly hopeful. Leia doesn’t see it, but Jyn does.

And she’s definitely not imagining it later, when Han asks under his breath, “So – it really works, you and the captain? Even though you’re so different?”

She thinks back over the past three months. Three months of getting to know Cassian, of seeing him happy, anxious, calm, sad, adoring. Of realizing they aren’t nearly as different as she thought. Of finding it harder and harder to remember why it was she ever thought he was anything less than wonderful.

“Yeah,” she says, knowing a stupid, goofy grin is spreading across her face, and not even caring. “It really does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (did I reuse 'jyn wakes up, feels weird for sleeping over, but then Cassian is adorable and makes breakfast and all is well' yet again? yes, but it's longer this time.)


End file.
